


Tough love

by orphan_account



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom John Marston, Established Relationship, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Praise Kink, Protective Arthur Morgan, Smut, Top Arthur Morgan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23912800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: John Marston hates swamps and his past but he loves Arthur Morgan." “Come here, baby.” Arthur calls him and pats his lap only to make John red. “Don’t call me that.” He mutters but sits on his lap anyway so that their thighs are touching and John can lock his ankles behind him if he wants to. “Why not? You got scared like a little baby, didn’t you?” Arthur teases and John slaps his arm. “Stop rubbing it in or I’ll shoot you in the dick.” Despite Arthur being a horrendous asshole at times, John knows he don’t mean nothing by it. John loves him and he hopes Arthur does still too, that all of this isn’t just play. He didn’t always have this much doubt but things are different now. "
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 106





	Tough love

"Arthur-" 

It's hard to say whether the noise he makes is of acknowledgement or a snore. 

"Arthur-" John says again into the darkness, this time leaning up on his hand. He hears the other man shift and opens his mouth to call out again but then Arthur speaks. "John, what?" His voice is groggy from sleep and irritated. 

"I don't like the swamps." John says as a matter of fact, and hears Arthur huff. "Neither do I but do you see me complaining? Just go to sleep and it'll be morning." He seems to shift again, probably to continue his slumber but John's not having it. He's uncomfortable, freaked out and can't sleep. "I can't sleep, the mosquitoes -" He lies to cover up the real fact he's being a wimp but Arthur's not stupid even when half asleep. "There's mosquitoes everywhere we go, man. Would you just shut your pie hole n' sleep?" 

John tries, like he has been for a couple hours now. He lies down, closes his eyes and summons thoughts that usually send him off to dream land quickly. They're mostly of Arthur but that's between himself and…well, himself. He fails to keep his eyes closed for long as a bad feeling creeps up his spine. On a terrain full of gators, weird bugs and dubious folk it's to be expected, though Arthur doesn't seem affected at all. Sleeping like the log he is. 

"Arthur." He hisses this time and the older man lets out a long groan of annoyance. "Arthur, I'm leaving. If you wanna stay that's fine but I am gone." He gets up and rolls in his bedroll. Stepping out of the tent he hears Arthur mumble 'whatever'. 

The air is cold but heavy due to the swamps. The grasshoppers are unreasonably loud and some gators growl on the other shore. Usually John loves to breathe in night air while sitting at a campfire and drinking but this place irks every bone in his body. He has heard the stories of night folk, what they do and how they do it. Very few have survived the attacks. They had met one man in Rhodes with only one arm and one wild eye that had seen some shit. Shit John wants no part of, so he has barely gotten his horse ready when he feels like there's eyes on him. Every direction his head turns gives him nothing, everything's still, sleeping like he should be. Even his horse senses his nervousness and whinnies. 

"Easy, we're leaving, aren't we?" He soothes the nervous animal and himself at the same time. He ties his equipment to the saddle and hops on, guiding Old boy back to where he hopes the road is. Another uneasy shiver wrecks through him and he quickly looks around, fuck. It's hard to see anything through the low fog and thick bushes. It gets even more unnerving when it take him longer to find the road that it took them to find a camping spot. Must be the wrong way then, he thinks and spurs Old boy to turn left. The horse clearly doesn't like the place any more than John does, randomly slowing down and fighting John's commands. 

"Come on boy, we ain't far." Or at least he hopes so. He isn't sure where they'll go but as long as they get on a road. That thought cuts short as Old boy freaks out properly now, bucking and throwing John off as his attention was elsewhere. "Fucking hell." John curses after landing into the moist earth, which ruined his clothes and got mud onto his face. 

He freezes when he hears a whistle, thinks he hears one because nothing happens after that. So he gets up slowly, swatting at his dirty clothes but then he hears it again. He draws his revolver, loads it and stays very, very still. The grasshoppers fade into background noise as he only hears his own breathing and rapid pulse. Stupid Arthur, making them stay out here. Something moves in the bushes in front of him. He swallows and points the gun towards the noise. A man leaps out from them, as pale as the moon and carrying a fucking machete. John gets over himself and fires his first shot, square in the man's face who yelps and falls dead. 

Marston knows these folk go in groups. They're already charging at him, giving him very little time to react but it isn't his first rodeo. He fires deadly shots with skill up until the very last one that manages to dodge the bullet and get close to John. At that moment John loses his balance trying to scramble back and the enemy's knife slashes across his torso, tearing his shirt and breaking skin. He falls on his back with a pained grunt and the attacker doesn't waste time kneeling over him and drawing back his knife. But before he can plunge it into John's neck a much louder gunshot rings through and the pale man's head basically explodes all over John. He groans in disgust and wipes his face immediately the best he can to avoid the blood getting into his eyes. 

"John." A concerned and familiar voice calls his name. John looks up at Arthur coming over to him with a big frown and a shotgun casually in one hand. He offers his hand, which John takes, and hauls him up. 

"I hate you, you know?" Marston mutters, still trying to wipe off as much blood as he can. "And to think I just saved your miserable ass." Arthur shakes his head but his voice is fond. He looks the younger man over and notices the long tear in his shirt. John hadn't felt the cut earlier due to adrenaline but now it was starting to sting badly and he feared it to be deep. ''Lemme see," Arthur says and gingerly opens the tear in his shirt wider to look at the cut. "It don't look deep." John sighs his relief. Now there was just the concern of it getting infected. 

"I take it you're not up for setting up another camp?" Arthur asks and John nearly lets out an offended noise. "You're batshit crazy, Morgan, if ya think I'm ever coming back here. Let alone spend the night." Arthur chuckles. "Alright, call your dumb horse and we'll go lodge in a saloon.”

Old Boy takes his grand old time responding to his whistles. As hard headed as the stallion is, he never goes out of whistling range. While they wait for the horse they take the opportunity to loot all the bodies. They didn't have much, as you'd expect from a bunch of swamp monsters. John did get a nice watch from one of them though, no doubt stolen, and Arthur got a few throwing knives. John flips him off when he makes a remark about who's horse clearly has the bigger balls. 

Old Boy eventually appears, slow and wary but picks up his speed when he sees John. Arthur takes them out of the swamps and onto a road that John was looking for earlier. They ride in silence in the dark, both pretty tired and praying the saloon's still open to let them in. 

Saint Denis is a dirt pile in disguise. Where it has its fancy colorful houses, educated people, all kinds of high class activities from high stake poker games to theaters, it's also rotten to the core. Bad air, shitty roads - literally human shit on the roads -, people who have no perception of the outside world and wouldn't touch a work tool if it came to it. At night it's admittedly pretty with its lights and city silence. The saloon, although too fancy for their taste, has great liquor and plush beds. 

They walk in, and it's not empty. The poker table's full, people are chattering and smoking with the working girls and a self-important looking woman is splayed out on a lounge chair. "Does anyone here have any cocaine?" She yells after taking a long drag from a cigarette. 

"One room, please." Arthur says to the bartender and throws him a dollar. But John's too interested in this woman everyone's ignoring. She caughts him staring though. "Pathetic, isn't it? Can't have a good time anymore." She whines to John's listening ears now. "I swear, miserable, all of you!" She yells again and gestures to the small crowd, then settles down with a pout as no one pays attention. 

"Come on, John." Arthur grabs his arm tightly and leads them past the tables and the women requesting company. Upstairs it's a lot calmer, only a couple people stand by the railing speaking among themselves. They cast looks at them and their dirty clothes, the rip in John's shirt that probably has some blood on it. 

John follows Arthur into their room and shuts the door behind them. Immediately the safety and warmth of an actual bedroom allows him to relax. There’s still anxiety nipping at the edge of his mind that Arthur’s mad at him for making them come all the way here. He watches as the older man sits on the bed and rolls his muscles. Might as well. He unbuttons and drops his ruined shirt and looks at the wound. It had already stopped bleeding since he had kept one arm over it as pressure. It’s just gonna be another white scar. 

“Come here, baby.” Arthur calls him and pats his lap only to make John red. “Don’t call me that.” He mutters but sits on his lap anyway so that their thighs are touching and John can lock his ankles behind him if he wants to. “Why not? You got scared like a little baby, didn’t you?” Arthur teases and John slaps his arm. “Stop rubbing it in or I’ll shoot you in the dick.” Despite Arthur being a horrendous asshole at times, John knows he don’t mean nothing by it. John loves him and he hopes Arthur does still too, that all of this isn’t just play. He didn’t always have this much doubt but things are different now. 

Back when Arthur was in his late twenties and John in his early, Arthur had asked John to be his. It had ripped John apart from the inside because after so many years of pining it was coming true, he had cried tears of happiness but also bitterness knowing they couldn’t show the love as freely. He’d be jealous of people showing affection in public, wanting to kiss Arthur whenever he damn felt like it. They weren’t ashamed of what they had though, they were in love.

Then Abigail got pregnant, gave birth to Jack and she was certain John was the father. John denied it of course but Arthur was sceptical, why would Abigail lie about sleeping with John. That was Arthur’s turn to get torn into two directions, not knowing who to believe. He’d pull away from John’s touches and ignore him. They turned on each other, yelling and saying hurtful things that could never be taken back. Then John left for a whole year and Arthur was left to drown his heartbreak in alcohol and violence. The scars from his numerous bar fights still remain to this day. He had never stopped loving John but he was also so full of anger and betrayal, it’s like he became a whole other person.

He didn’t stop being bitter when John came back, the opposite actually, he got worse. Seeing the face of someone he cannot stop loving even when it causes him enormous pain brought all the suffocated emotions to the surface. He didn’t hurt John but mostly himself, breaking skin and bone punching things, destroying his inside with liquor and tobacco. He’d cry at night by himself then leave once the sun rose, not bearing to let John see him like that. John would try to talk to him. First calmly, then firmly and at last crying. Arthur had blocked him out, thought it’d be better to let it die out properly. John would talk about the situation with Hosea who in turn tried talk with Arthur but it never really led anywhere. Arthur was a sturdy blockhead. 

In Blackwater they started to get along better again, they’d talk and laugh together while drinking or eating. They’d take on jobs and hunting trips but as friends. It killed John to see that spark Arthur used to have when looking at him completely gone. John still denied Jack was his and would argue about it with Abigail. Abigail seemed sorry about what had happened between the two men but was hell-bent on not raising the boy alone. John never claimed to be a saint, he has a quick mouth that can and will spew hurtful words. The ferry job gone wrong sent them at large and into those goddamn mountains. Finding John in that state had fired up something inside Arthur and he had began to give him a second chance. He’d come see him while he was at bed rest and brought him food. At horseshoe was the first time in four years they had fallen asleep tangled in each other. 

Arthur’s lips touch his throat. John lifts his chin out of the way. Like this, pressed close and safe, John feels at home. At first Arthur only nips along his throat then finds a specific spot and sucks on it. John hums. “I’m sorry sweetheart.” Arthur murmurs against his skin making John frown. “For what?”  
“For ignoring you, when you needed me.” His voice is quiet, as if anyone could hear. John could take that in many ways but for now he settles for what they have. “No worries big guy, we’re all alive here.” His hands tug at the older man’s shirt and he gets the hint, unbuttoning and shrugging it off. John’s hands immediately roam over his broad hairy chest, going to tweak his nipples. Arthur moans from where he had put his head on John’s shoulder. His large hands grab John’s skinny waist and the younger rolls his hips. “Everything off.” Arthur grounds out and John obliges, waits for Arthur to undress as well and slide further on the bed. John immediately finds himself being pulled underneath Arthur when he gets on it as well. They lock eyes and John swallows around a lump in his throat when he sees a spark in them. “This okay?” Arthur asks. “Yeah, Arthur.” 

Their lips meet for a soft kiss and then Arthur’s laying down so their heated skin meets. He rolls his hips and John gasps, one hand grabbing Arthur’s bicep. His other hand goes up and down his lover’s back before going lower and squeezing his ass. “How far do you wanna go?” Arthur’s voice is deep and husked, successfully making John squirm. He noses at the younger man’s throat while waiting for an answer and John still feels mortified to say it out loud, but also knows Arthur won’t do anything unless he tells him. “Fuck me, please?” He misses the feeling of his lover inside him so much it’s making him tremble. Arthur rises off him and they both mourn the loss of close heat. He reaches to the floor where his satchel is and fishes out a tin of vaseline.

He sits back between John’s legs and taps his thigh so he spreads them further. He scoops up some of the vaseline and spreads it on John’s cock before stroking him slowly. John moans and throws his head back onto the pillow. Arthur strokes a couple times from base top tip then tugs on his balls with his other hand. John’s mouth opens into a gasp and he starts rolling his hips along the stroking. “Good boy.” Arthur praises him and John swears this man is gonna be the death of him. The praise sends a shock through his spine and his legs switch on Arthur’s sides. “You like that, sweetheart?” Arthur asks him knowingly and speeds up his hand. “Fuck.” John moans. He could easily come like this, with Arthur praising him but he wants his cock. “Arthur, please.” He begs and the other man complies. 

He takes more of the vaseline, warms it up with his fingers then pushes one of John’s thighs further back. “Okay?” Arthur checks and with John’s nod he circles his hole and pushes a finger in to the first knuckle. John’s tight and hot inside, making Arthur bite his lip in anticipation. “So good and tight for me, love” He murmurs and pushes his finger in all the way once John relaxes. He pumps it out a few times, watching John’s blissed out reactions then pulls out only to add another. John moans and pants, rolling down to meet the fingers thrusting inside of him. “Arthur, Arthur come on.” He whines and the older hushes him. He adds a third finger slowly but John has other ideas, pushing down and taking them deeper. “Ah- come on, I’m ready.” 

Arthur slaps his thigh lightly for rushing him but pulls his fingers out nevertheless. John watches with eagerness as Arthur slicks up his big cock with elaborate strokes. He then leans over John again, on his elbow with his hand near his head and uses his other hand to guide himself in. When he pushes past the slight resistance John moans loud and happy, his legs crossing at the small of Arthur’s back and giving him better access to fuck into him. “Yeah, yeah.” He whimpers and uses his legs to pull him in deeper. Arthur pushes to the hilt and drops from his elbows to wrap his hands around John and starts thrusting. He goes slow and deep first but picks up the speed till the sound of skin against skin and John’s panting fills the room. Arthur’s not as loud but he occasionally grunts near his ear with the pleasure. 

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur-” John chants when his stomach muscles clench and he digs his nails into Arthur’s broad, sweaty back. He feels his orgasm getting closer with each deep thrust. One of his hands slides down and instead of stroking himself he puts his fingers where Arthur’s cock is spreading him open. “I’m- I’m close,” He gets as much out between his panting before he comes with hot long streaks, his hand going to stroke out the rest of it. Arthur grunts and sits up, pulling John’s hips onto his cock. John throws a hand over his sweaty face. “Arthur, in me, please.” 

“Fuck- Johnny, so good for me. So good for me, sweetheart.” The bigger man groans with the erratic thrusting. He bends down when he comes, pushing in all the way and weakly thrusting and panting until his cock stops twitching. He pulls out with a wet squelch and falls down next to John who’s still heaving. They’re both dirty with sweat and come but neither has the energy to clean up. When his breathing returns to normal and he can move without twitching, John rolls to his side to find Arthur already asleep. “I love you.” He whispers and cuddles close to him.

In the morning John wakes up to Arthur coming back to the room. He also notices he’s been covered with a blanket. “Morning, I got us a bath.” Arthur greets him. “Oh, thank fuck.” John says and stretches with a long groan. He sits up and looks for his shirt on the floor. Arthur walks to him and lifts his chin up with a finger. “Hey,” He says with a warm smile and before John can ask they’re kissing. “I love you too, Johnny.” Arthur murmurs against his lips.


End file.
